


I'll wear my striped socks for you

by masongirl



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Ronald Speirs, Bottom Carwood Lipton, Clueless Carwood Lipton, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Angst, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl
Summary: Carwood is in a secret relationship with his professor's TA and he knows he's going to get his heart broken."See you later, Carwood." Luz mimics, drawing his brows together and straightening his back. "Lip, you gotta tell me something. Is this creep into you or what?""I don't know.""Don't know, my ass." Malarkey chimes in. "He wants to eat you alive."
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs, George Luz/Joseph Toye
Comments: 22
Kudos: 117





	I'll wear my striped socks for you

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is 7k words of Speirton fluff with some minor angst generated by Carwood being clueless. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! :)

"I've been waiting to do this all day." Ron groans and fits his hand around Carwood's jaw to tilt it to the side. Carwood closes his eyes as teeth graze over his neck, bite down at the juncture of his shoulder and suck a mark into that spot.

"Becoming a vampire?" He pants and strokes one hand up to the wrist holding his face, sliding the other around to hug Ron's slim waist. He doesn't care if it wrinkles his dress shirt. Ron's evening class can speculate all it wants. The mattress creaks under his back as he squirms, and his throat vibrates through a quiet moan.

Ron chuckles into his collarbone. "You make the best sounds."

Carwood flexes his fingers around Ron's forearm and goes boneless when a soft exhale follows the pattern of damp kisses to his ear. All his worries vanish as Ron presses his mouth to his earlobe, then to his pulse point, the curve of his Adam's apple. He can smell Ron's cologne and faint traces of coffee, dark and comforting, with the flowery detergent they both use. The desire in his stomach pools down into his legs, so he spreads them, catching Ron's hips between his thighs. They grind together lazily. Ron's thumb shifts to his chin, still keeping him in place, and Carwood gives it a kiss, then smiles when it traces a path back and forth on his lips. The hint of stubble on Ron's cheek tickles his skin, but he wouldn't mind if it left a mark.

If someone told him four months ago that out of all his friends, he'd be the one to have an illicit affair with his professor's TA, Carwood would have laughed into their face. He has always been a model student, quiet and hardworking, a good team player. Sleeping with the person who corrects half of their assignments does not fit into that. But here he is, willingly devoured and pliant in Ron's embrace on a boring Tuesday afternoon.

"What?" Ron whispers, trailing tiny kisses from his temple to his nose now. He makes love with such single-minded intensity that it sometimes surprises Carwood when he speaks.

"Nothing." Carwood says, but he hesitates, and the hitch in his breath doesn't go unnoticed.

Ron pauses and raises himself higher on his elbows, completely relaxing his grip to let Carwood look up. He cards a gentle hand through Carwood's hair, searching his face. "What is it?"

 _I'm in love with you,_ Carwood wants to say, but he's chickenshit, because it's stupid to think Ron would ever reciprocate. They haven't even had a proper date yet.

"You're heavy." He says instead, and Ron's answer to that is pushing his arms under Carwood and rolling them around until Carwood straddles his hips.

"I don't mind the weight." Ron explains matter-of-factly, and good thing he doesn't, because Carwood is at least ten pounds heavier.

His serious tone makes Carwood smile. He stretches his hands out and hums when Ron tentatively raises his own and lets him lace their fingers together. Two months of regular sex and he's finally ready to hold hands. "How was your day?"

"Passable." Ron mutters as if giving a report after a scientific experiment. It takes him a second to ask back. "Yours?"

"It was good. Got an A on my Punic War essay." Carwood puts Ron's palms on his thighs and rubs the back of his bony hands, scratching a little where he knows the ink of a pen left blue shadows behind. "I had an excellent tutor."

There's a pleased smile on Ron's face that lingers as they watch each other in silence. In the distance, the old clock tower booms as its bell rings three times in a row. These are the best moments - when they can just sit back and lose time together without fear or guilt. Carwood's bedroom is bathed in golden orange sunshine and a ray of light is slowly crawling across the wall, above the maple headboard. Everything oozes spring now.

"Tell me a secret." Carwood whispers.

Ron gives him one of his unwavering stares, and Carwood has to try his damnedest to keep from flushing under the scrutiny. But he's not prepared for the reply. "I'm divorced."

"What?" He coughs out in surprise, but Ron is already shutting off, the hard-earned serenity in his eyes freezing into a guarded look, as if he didn't mean for that to come out. It's easy to get cold feet when the skeletons fall out of the closet.

"I was young, foolish and confused." He mutters, as if he isn't any of those now, and pulls his hands away to grab Carwood's hips instead, taking control again and guiding them back on track. "It's over. Let's not talk about it."

"Ron…"

Ron sits up and kisses him square on the lips. "Come on. I haven't seen you since Friday."

It's tempting to point out that it means a whopping three days without sex, but Carwood is rarely in the mood to be snarky. As usual, he indulges Ron and kisses back, then pulls his T-shirt over his head. "We should make up for it then, huh?"

It started with a cancelled class on a cloudy January day when the breeze was still too cold and Carwood was too depressed to think of long-term consequences. Last year didn't prepare him for being a junior. His winter was such a mess - he almost dropped out along with Muck and Penkala, even though the light is so close at the end of the tunnel. Just one more year now. That day, after he realised he was the only trusting idiot who came to class even though Dike tended not to bother with teaching in bad weather, he sat down behind the shield of a locker and closed his eyes. He was mourning his morning coffee because crossing the slippery, frozen courtyard of their building to the closest coffee shop would have been a health hazard. Then, coming out of nowhere, Ron sauntered up to him and declared that Carwood was indeed in serious need of a hot beverage.

"It's not worth cracking my head open on the asphalt." Carwood replied grimly, gesturing at the mirror-sleek layer of ice outside.

Ron gave him a considering look, one he would recognise by now, but he was none the wiser then. "Be right back." He said and disappeared.

To Carwood's utter astonishment, he did come back, two steaming cups in his hands and a healthy flush on his cheeks. He dropped into the chair right next to Carwood and shoved the bigger one into his hand. "Drink up before it gets cold."

Carwood smiled and settled back until their shoulders touched. "My hero."

They spent a good while in comfortable silence, just sipping their drinks and watching the leafless trees shiver outside in the wind. He kept thinking of that point of contact between their bodies, and how good it felt, how warm - it was the first time they touched at all. They talked to each other frequently, but that was all boring university stuff or idle small talk, as much as Ron was willing to engage. This was different. Carwood already knew it would make things change.

The clouds opened up outside and the sky began shedding snow again, in fat, sticky flakes. Ron sighed. It felt intimate - an expression of emotion so close to Carwood's ear that he could hear it start as soon as Ron's lips parted. They hadn't been alone like that before. It was a mystery why Dike's lesson was placed in the Music Building, but at least it never got as crowded as the Business School before lunch break, and at that moment, he was infinitely glad for the privacy. Notes of a solemn French song drifted over to them from a room further down the corridor, and the angelic tone made Carwood sad. Christmas was long over and he was ready for life to wake up.

It was him who broke the cozy lull when he realised he should catch the bus home. It was still worth it to come in, just for Ron. Just for him. "How much do I owe you?"

Ron reached into his bag and took his ivy green knit hat in hand. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Coming from a man who didn't even lend his students a pen for the register when they asked, it sounded like a joke.

"It was a gift." Ron stressed and stood up, putting his hat on. As usual, it was pulled low over his forehead and softened the harsh gleam in his eyes. Luz liked to make fun of him for it when he wasn't around.

"All right." Carwood conceded and followed him out the door. "Let me buy the next round then."

That earned him a smile. "Deal."

He wasn't sure where Ron was headed, but they were going the same way even though he knew Ron's flat was in the other direction. They had to dodge a tumultuous snowball fight as they passed the open space between the library and the main building, the one that was so amazingly green in the summer. Carwood still likes daydreaming about the patch of grass he and Luz collapsed on after their first finished year. A group of seniors were throwing water bombs at every passerby, and they fired a few at Carwood and his friends too. It still makes him laugh that Joe got hit twice on his pants while the one landing on Luz didn't have enough force to explode.

It wasn't a pretty place though on that gloomy winter day with Ron. There wasn't much snow left as the students tore through it, just the ugly, frozen earth with roots sticking out like a tiny, splintered forest. Where the ice melted from all the heavy feet traipsing over it, the mud looked vicious and sticky. Carwood gave it a glum look.

"I'm going to take over the next few lessons." Ron announced then, out of the blue. He wasn't looking at Carwood, but his steps were uneven in a way that kept him in a whirligig sway between a respectable distance and intimacy. As if he was hesitant. That was the first moment when Carwood's heart stirred with hope.

"Oh."

"You wanna ask me, don't you? About the rumors."

"I don't care about the rumors." Honestly. He knew that a doctorate student who had the guts to fail a well-connected kid for a breach of academic integrity would kind of appeal to him. "My friends don't either. They'll be happy to have a competent lecturer again."

It was only the gleam in Ron's eyes that betrayed his amusement. "Dike isn't very reliable, is he?"

"That's one way to put it." Carwood snorted. "He completely left the Second Punic War out of his lecture plans, but he does make us write an essay on it." He snickered. There wasn't much else to do but laugh about it. "What a bastard."

Ron brushed against him as they walked, getting more daring the farther they were from the university's heart. "Couldn't agree more."

"You're his TA!"

"So? It doesn't mean I have to like him." They lapsed into a charged, but easy silence. The air seemed to be tingling around them as they stopped by the gates, just watching each other through the steam of their breaths in the chill. Ron nodded, as if coming to a resolution, which he probably was. He never cared for rules much, but what they have now couldn't be a hasty decision for either of them. De facto, Carwood was Ron's student. Still is. "I could do it."

"Do what?"

"I could teach you about Carthage."

Carwood grinned and tried his best not to stare as a collection of snowflakes got caught on Ron's eyelashes and clung there until they melted. "Are you offering me private lessons?"

"I am." Ron confirmed, then tilted his head. "We can start today if you want."

"I do."

"Do you remember our first kiss?" Carwood whispers when Ron has him flat on his back again, sated and drowsy. He can feel the pleasant ache in his thighs and the pinpricks of bruises Ron's possessive fingertips left on his ass. He'd be blushing if he had any mental energy left to feel bashful.

"Getting sentimental?" Ron teases next to him with his eyes closed. His dark hair curls against his forehead in a wild wave from the sweat they worked up together.

Carwood pokes his lax fingers with one of his own. "Maybe, I want to hear your take on it."

"Fine." Ron's voice is gruff, but there's no bite to it. He just doesn't usually see the point of elaboration. "We had our second lesson about Carthage, and you could not sit still. I offered to move to the couch because it's more comfortable, and you touched my feet with yours after we sat down. Your socks were striped."

Carwood doesn't know why Ron finds that a relevant enough detail to mention, but this is exactly why he asked. It's impossible to untangle Ron's behavior sometimes, and he just wants to know… He _needs_ to know whether they have a chance to make this official. To hear which fragments of their memories Ron takes extra note of could help.

"I thought those socks suited you. I wish you wore them more often." Carwood can't help a soft laugh then. He scoots closer to nuzzle Ron's cheek and Ron wraps an arm around him until he curls into his chest. "You were distracting me from finishing the lesson, so I kissed you to make you stop flirting. You did not protest."

Carwood smiles into Ron's shoulder. "Hm, was that really the reason?"

"Yes."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Ron doesn't reply, as he's wont to when he doesn't know how to turn the conversation into a direction he'd like. Carwood isn't pushy about it. If there's one thing he knows it's that Ronald Speirs won't admit to anything he identifies as a weakness until he's ready to face the consequences.

He isn't brave enough to ask about the rest anyway. After that kiss, Carwood got a nasty cold, and when he came back to health a few weeks later, Ron wasn't patient anymore. He acted like he was starving for it, and Carwood can't say he minded taking it instantly to the physical level, but no dating followed, and they're stuck now. Somehow, they fell into a routine of spectacular sex and little else, and while Carwood is steadily losing his grasp on his feelings, he suspects Ron is satisfied with this casual secret relationship. Friends with benefits, or what's it called now?

* * *

Carwood is still unable to define it the next day, sitting at one of the picnic tables the university put out since the milder half of March arrived. Joe’s quiet, gravelly voice provides the perfect background buzz to his wandering thoughts.

“Three days' supply of toilet paper, cookies, flashlight, water bottles, compass, rain gear, metric tape, line level, pointy trowel, margin trowel, small root clippers and paintbrush, sun screen, bug spray, this bullshit -” Joe snarls at the picture of a tool. “- and my goddamn clothes. This stuff takes up more place than my kid brother and I’ve still got my backpack, my tent, my sleeping bag, my pillow and my tin mug.”

“I don’t know where to get work gloves.” Luz adds, ticking items off on both his and Joe’s papers. His hair is messier than usual - he has been running his fingers through it every minute since Joe chose to crowd him into Malarkey even though Carwood is alone on the other side of the table.

“I could use some work gloves.” Joe mutters, then makes a plaintive noise. "Shit, Georgie, this is two weeks long?"

It’s hard to miss how Luz smiles to himself at the nickname that sometimes slips out of Joe's mouth unbidden. Malarkey shakes his head, stuffing his face with a sandwich. “Why did you sign up for an archaeology field class if you’re just going to complain all the time?”

It’s simple - because Luz wanted to go. Carwood knows, Joe confessed to him a few weeks ago, but he isn’t going to betray his friend’s trust. He’ll let them work it out themselves. Maybe the field work will help.

“We could share a tent if you want.” Luz offers in a carefully laid-back tone. Everyone can see right through it except for Joe.

“Only if you don’t snore. I wanna get some fucking sleep there.”

Right. Carwood bets sleep is going to be Joe’s number one priority when he’s sharing a tent with his crush.

"How's it going, Lip?" Malarkey turns to him so suddenly that he jolts, blinking the daze out of his eyes. "You look distracted."

He clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Our dearest friend is in over his head.” Luz crows, grinning ear-to-ear. He’s way too observant for his own good. “He’s got a secret lover.”

“No way. The respectable Mr. Lipton?" Malarkey nudges his shoulder from across the table and makes him smile.

"Shut up, boy."

Joe snorts. "Come on, spill."

"Yeah, Lip, the rumor mill needs water to run." Luz adds, leaning forward with gleaming eyes. He’s extra enthusiastic, now that Joe seems interested in the subject.

It’s no use trying to keep it a secret any longer. Although Ron is technically involved in teaching one of his courses, he doubts he could get into trouble by opening up to his friends. They wouldn’t do that to him, would they?

"There's… someone. A guy." Luz makes a _duh_ noise, which is totally unwarranted. Carwood had girlfriends before - it's not his fault that they didn't last long. "We've been seeing each other for a few months now, but it's not - we're not really dating. Not publicly.”

“What are you doing then if it’s not dating?” Malarkey asks dumbly, and Carwood _feels_ the heat of his beetroot blush rush to his face.

“Other things.”

Luz whistles. "Didn't expect that from you, but we're proud to have you on the dark side."

"The hell are you talking about?" Joe interjects, sounding jealous and belligerent about Luz _potentially_ being involved in any kind of sexual relationship, and Carwood's love life is instantly forgotten as his best friend jumps into their usual fighting routine with vehemence. He's cracking sarcasm at Joe's expense until Joe's got a hand around his collar and Malarkey gives Carwood a glance that screams, _will they finally do it?_ Then, his look morphs into dread.

"Shit!” He hisses. “That's Speirs, don't let him notice us."

Ron is walking across the university center shooting death glares left and right at anyone who comes within arm’s reach of him. He’s in a bad mood, but Carwood can’t stop the fluttery feeling in his chest as his stomach goes _whoop_ and flips over in his body. He smiles and thinks his face must be a window right into the fondness flooding his heart. "Hey, Ron!"

His friends groan under their breaths as Ron’s head snaps in their direction and recognition clears the frown from his face. He arrives to their table with an expression of calculated neutrality. Like he’s ready to explode if someone gives him a reason.

"Hello." He says and receives mumbled greetings and a half-hearted wave from Luz in return. "It's a nice day to be outside."

The awkward silence that follows is jarring, compared to the vibrant clamor coming from the sunbathing students surrounding them. Ron glances at Carwood, a micro-expression of helplessness fleeting across his eyes, so Carwood offers a topic to get things going. He can’t bring himself to feel guilty for enjoying his friends’ discomfort though. "We were just discussing our career prospects."

Luz, ever the faithful friend, picks the thread right up. "Yeah, Indiana Joe here is getting into archaeology."

If looks could deliver punches, Luz would have a nice pair of matching shiners by now. Ron’s hawk eyes zero in on Joe.

"I see." He says, then promptly decides he has the time for socialization after all and sits down next to Carwood. "That's not an easy subject."

Unsurprisingly, Ron knows a lot about sieving gold and digging out ancient artefacts, and he also garners a dislike for the Antiquities Act. The boys don’t even notice it when they fall into lecture mode, but Carwood can see how the veil of relaxation settles over them and their attention dims. It makes him daring enough to rub his foot against Ron’s under the table. He means it as an encouragement, but Ron startles, as much as he can do that, and wraps up his speech. “I almost went down that path myself.”

Carwood raises his eyebrows in surprise. He has seen dozens of expensive albums on his shelf about the art of ancient civilizations, but he never put two and two together. "Why didn't you go for it?"

"I realized I wouldn't be able to take my treasures home." Ron looks at him and smiles, and Carwood’s foolish heart thuds double-time at the implications until that fond gaze darts away.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to go now.” Ron’s ridiculously stiff about his goodbyes as always. He stands and gives Carwood’s shoulder a light pat, then nods at the boys. "See you later, Carwood. Luz, Toye, Malarkey."

All of Carwood’s friends heave a sigh of relief when he’s out of earshot.

"See you later, _Carwood."_ Luz mimics, drawing his brows together and straightening his back as if that resembled Ron and his natural aloofness at all. Carwood is still too pleased to do anything but flash a shy smile. "Lip, you gotta tell me something. Is this creep into you or what?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know, my ass." Malarkey chimes in. "He wants to eat you alive."

If only they knew. If only.

* * *

Ron isn't always good at taking care of himself, so Carwood picks up the slack for him. Brings him fruit and cooks him dinner in the evenings when Ron admits he hasn't eaten anything warm in two days. Without exception, Ron pretends to be interested in cooking and helping out every single time. Today, he even cut up a carrot, then abandoned it in favor of conking out in front of the TV. He's sleeping through gunfire and Stalin's organ like a baby, features smooth and pink lips slack as the war documentary drones on. Carwood drapes a blanket over him and tucks his fringe out of his eyes. The movement doesn’t wake him up. It's touching, that he trusts Carwood enough to show exhaustion like this.

The soup is almost ready when Ron rises again. He comes up behind Carwood while he stirs tarragon into the food and mumbles something about Dike leaving their research in a mess. He's cautious at first, pressing nothing but his palm to the small of Carwood's back, but when Carwood just offers him a taster of the food, he gradually relaxes and slips both his arms around Carwood's middle in a squishy hug. He lays his head on Carwood's shoulder and just rests there in silence. His fingers curl into Carwood's beige sweater on both sides.

"You're wearing your striped socks." Ron sighs. He makes a strangely frustrated noise, as if he's unable to convey what he wants with simple words, but he doesn't go on and the moment slips away. A handful of golden dust in the breeze. Carwood could push for an explanation, but he figures he'll find out in time. He just smiles and covers Ron's left hand with his own - he doesn't mind the wait.

It must be an effect of that short display of affection that when they finally get down to their usual evening program, Carwood feels needy and touch starved. He runs his fingers up along Ron's naked spine and strokes his nape, the soft skin of his neck and the spots behind his ears. There's no barrier between them, but it's still not enough. It doesn't feel real. The gaping emptiness inside, the longing for what this relationship could be, twists Carwood's expression into sadness. Ron makes a questioning sound and kisses the furrow between Carwood's eyebrows. He wets his fingers with the lube.

"Ron" Carwood whispers, overwhelmed by his own wistfulness. Ron's damp fingertips tickle as they skitter down his inner thigh, then press in and _up._ He bites his lip. He wants Ron to pretend he loves him, wants him to make this meaningful and special. He doesn't know how long he can take being nothing but a convenient partner, and he wants to forget he isn't more tonight. "Ron."

"Yes?"

He cups Ron's cheek and brushes his thumb under the dark circle shadowing his eye. His knees tremble to open wider and welcome him in. "Let’s go slow tonight."

There's a moment when a question runs through Ron's gaze, but it's gone as fast as it came and leaves only fondness in its wake. Ron turns his face into Carwood's hand and nods, kissing the heel of his palm, and his shallow breathing sounds like ocean waves seeping through the gaps of his fingers. Carwood turns his eyes to the ceiling to hide his relief. His muscles ripple, and he feels the slickness push deeper inside, touch places no one else had before and no one else would if they lived in a perfect world. It stings and stretches him, but Ron's other hand is so tender on his shoulder that his eyelashes don't even flutter.

"I'm going to take you now." Ron kisses it into his cheek, and Carwood's lungs stop working for a second because Ron doesn't talk dirty, but his bluntness is more than enough to light a cascade of fire along his spine. He grips Ron's luxurious sheets and holds still for the relentless, blunt pressure of the first thrust. His gasp slips through his teeth like a punch, and the pleasure hurts. In the silvery-blue tint of the night, Ron's gaze seems shiny and awed.

"Just like that." Ron bumps their noses together and rolls his hips forward again, sweet-hard and familiar inside, and Carwood falls even deeper in love. Being wanted with such raw need is a miracle. "Just like that."

He's starting to suspect he's going to get his heart broken, but he's not ready to admit it yet. He hooks his arm behind Ron's neck and pulls him down until their embrace is tight and their view is swallowed by their kiss, and there's nothing but touch and smell and sound and taste.

Ron stays between his legs when it's over and doesn't pull out. A first for them. It's a delightful torture that makes Carwood's oversensitive nerves tingle and his spent body twitch. There's something decadent about lying around like this, when they have no other reason to remain still than their whim to bask in their connection's sensuality. Carwood caresses Ron's sinewy calf with his left foot and tilts his head into the fingers Ron cards through his hair. This would be the perfect moment to confess, but he can't do it. His feelings flow stronger than the Mississippi, but his fears still hold a rickety dam upright against the water.

He focuses on Ron's combing instead. "You really like doing that."

Ron doesn't stop and doesn't deny it either, but then he notices the look on Carwood's face and frowns. "Does it upset you?"

Carwood sighs and averts his eyes. "I'm twenty-two and already balding."

"It doesn't matter to me." As usual, Ron doesn't lie just to pacify him. He tries to reassure with the truth.

Carwood kisses him for it anyway and holds his grunt back when Ron chooses that moment to slip out. Ron’s a man of practicality, it was already surprising that he stayed for this long. He presses a kiss to the center of Carwood’s chest, then disappears in the bathroom and shuts the door. The shower hisses to life. Carwood rolls onto his side and stares at the thin ray of warm light that escapes through the gap above the threshold. It’s easy to imagine the clear stream of droplets splashing on blue tiles, breaking for a second when Ron steps in, then rolling languidly down the grooves of his hips and soaking the dark hair on his body. After, Ron always showers if he can, even when they use condoms - he’s very particular about it. Carwood is used to it, doesn’t mind it at all, but tonight, he’s cold from a chill that has nothing to do with his nakedness or the draft coming in through the open bedroom door. He thought sex would help, but it just made him feel desolate instead.

He crawls out of bed and follows that beacon of light tentatively, self-conscious about the bulk of his body and the sticky wetness all over it, even though Ron has seen him like this in broad daylight before and never complained. Once inside the bathroom, he takes a deep breath, lets the hot steam fill his chest with courage, then pulls the shower stall open.

“Is this okay?” He asks as he steps in and makes a timid, aborted gesture that strokes down Ron’s soapy arm. Their intimacy doesn’t extend beyond sex, because Carwood lacks the experience to initiate and Ron probably doesn’t want to, so they have never showered together before.

Ron seems too surprised to answer at first. His mouth is open around a half-formed sound and his eyebrows are curving up, a rare sight. He blinks rapidly at Carwood with his eyelashes clumped together. “Yes.” He says at last. “Of course.”

They shuffle back and forth under the spray in awkward silence, bumping elbows and avoiding each other’s gaze, until Ron huffs a laugh and loops his arms around Carwood’s neck, licking into his mouth as the hot water rains down on their heads. “Relax.”

Carwood’s lips stretch into a crooked smile. He brackets Ron’s hips with his hands, fascinated by the slippery smooth skin he finds. The fine muscles around Ron’s hipbones shift under his touch. “Okay.”

“How do you like the water?”

“It’s good.” Carwood’s grin widens. Ron is so bad at small talk that it’s almost charming when he makes an effort. “The pressure’s nice. I hope I’ll find a flat like this.”

Ron’s brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

“Toye, Luz and I are looking for a new place for next year."

The frown on Ron’s face deepens. It’s a formidable expression - if Carwood didn’t know better, he’d think Ron was angry. “Why? You have a good contract now.”

Carwood sighs and trails his right hand to Ron’s stomach, watching how his pale fingers look there instead of meeting Ron’s eyes. He doesn’t want to tell him that he needs to move because it’s risky to take Ron home with other students around, or that it would be easier to ask him to stay the night if Carwood’s bed wasn’t a single. “I need the change, I think. It will be my last year here, and… I don’t want to share a flat with seven people I don’t really care about.”

Ron contemplates that for a second, then something changes in his eyes, and he slowly, carefully, starts leaning back against the tiles. “I’ve been living alone since high school.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was my choice. I don’t mind solitude. And Margaret… It was an accident.”

Carwood makes sure his voice is steady when he replies, but his heart is racing. It has been a month since he first heard about the divorce and Ron hasn’t brought it up since. “The marriage?”

“Everything.” Ron shakes his head. “I got her pregnant and I took responsibility for it. But she realized she didn’t want me to, and she took my son to grow up far away from my bad influence, with another man as his father. I’m nothing but a name.”

Ron’s fists clench behind Carwood’s nape, he can feel them, how they shake, and he’s glad his own are trapped between the tiles and their bodies. There’s venomous hate in his guts against that woman and her man, but he reins it in. He knows it’s unjustified. “You have a son?”

“I told you - young and foolish.” Ron looks sad and strangely vulnerable. “I probably don’t deserve him.”

The shower beats down on Carwood’s back like a thermal waterfall, but the tiles are cool, and he can see goosebumps on Ron’s arm. It must be past midnight now and the week’s fatigue wraps everything into a surreal, lethargic veil. They should get out and go to sleep, it’s too late for such a heavy discussion, but something implodes in Carwood’s heart and he has to say it.

“You do. You’re a good man.” He kisses Ron’s jaw. “And I love you.”

As the words echo through the fogged-up glass stall, Ron presses their foreheads together. He doesn’t say anything, but he pulls Carwood tighter into his arms and kicks his own legs apart, pushing the shower gel into Carwood’s hand, and that - well, that’s a first too.

* * *

A week later, on a mild Friday morning, Carwood gets a text.

_I would like to take you to the Villaggio tonight. We could go for a walk after._

He smiles wide enough to feel the ache of it in his cheeks, just staring at the message, and he's not quick enough to put it away before Luz catches him and takes the phone.

"And I thought romance was dead." Luz teases, waving the device around. He’s sprawling beside Carwood on the couch they occupied for the one-hour gap between their lectures. "At least _someone's_ boyfriend acts like one."

Joe raises his head from the table he’s been resting it on. He's just as vaguely melancholic as always, and there’s a red spot on his forehead now. "Hey, I even gave you flowers."

"One flower, Joe. One.” Luz holds up his index finger, eyebrows raised in the way that suggests he’s in a happy storytelling mood. “And you picked it up in the forest. You could have poisoned me."

“You’re not supposed to eat the damn things.”

They did get together at the field trip. Carwood doesn't know exactly how it happened, but he knows it involved a spider in one half of the tent that miraculously disappeared as soon as Joe let Luz snuggle up to him in his sleeping bag. He also knows, because Luz can be oversharing when he’s falling headfirst into a crush, that Joe is queasy as all hell about outdoor sex, so they haven’t yet “sealed the deal”, in Luz’s words. They sure act like they did though.

"What did you want to tell me?" Carwood interrupts the bickering, trying to figure out a way to get his phone back. He’s not concerned that Luz could read the name above the text any minute, because it’s high time he told them anyway, but damn it, he wants to answer. Ron is finally taking him out!

"Oh, right. I forgot.” Luz starts, one hand moving to Joe’s thigh, shamelessly feeling him up. They have been all over each other since they came back. “So get this. Toye and I are waiting for you after our economics exam, you know the one -"

"Cause you haven't complained about it all week." Joe drawls, face hidden in the crook of his arm again.

"Shut up. A girl comes sobbing out of a classroom. Turns out, Speirs caught her watching videos in class and pocketed her phone. He said he wouldn't give it back until she got him something more valuable."

Carwood chuckles. Sounds like his Ron all right. More valuable probably meant a sincere apology or a cup of black coffee, but he has a better idea.

"Do you know who she is?" He asks, then tears a piece of paper out of his notes, scribbling on it. He folds it in half and puts it in Luz’s hand, fully aware what this means. "Tell her to give this to Ron. And don’t read it!"

Luz barely makes it to the end of the corridor before his head snaps up and he whirls back around with a huge grin. _“Really?!”_

Carwood just laughs. He figures he can tell Joe too when he wakes up.

* * *

“I got your note.” Is how Ron starts their date, stone-faced on Carwood's threshold at the time Carwood specified on the slip of paper, and everything goes downhill from there. It doesn't seem like a date at all. Ron is distracted and seems reluctant to open his mouth, doesn’t offer conversation and doesn’t react, looks like a shell in his perfectly crisp shirt and dress pants. The ambience is closer to a funeral than a proposal, and they don't even order dessert at the unnecessarily elegant restaurant Ron seems to have chosen only to cushion the gunshot change in his behavior. Carwood wants to cry. He knows what this is, and he's grateful, but maybe a rude rejection would have been better than this gentle let-down. At least he could hate Ron then, say he's a bastard and go on with his self-worth intact.

He tries to cut it short and get away, even suggests something dirty so that they could have break-up sex, a last time to remember, but Ron doesn't take the hint and refuses to go home. He insists that he knows Carwood will like the riverside path in the lukewarm May breeze and leads them down to the dimly lit row of trees that line the way to the bridge. It's a quiet night. The cloying scent of flowers drifts in the air and dances with the humid gusts biting into the river, playful and enticing. A flock of gulls chase each other along the bank in a shriek of feathers. For once, the silence isn't comfortable, and Carwood's heart quivers each time Ron sways close and pulls away again. Such a distorted mirror image of their first walk together, when nature was dead, but Carwood's soul was brimming with hope.

Carwood's phone buzzes, and he takes it out since Ron doesn't seem to care anyway. It's a text from Luz that could have made Carwood smile if he wasn't devastated.

_Don't let him kill you if he takes you to the bay_

"What is it?" Ron asks, voice sharp.

"Luz thinks you want to kill me." Carwood explains softly, almost wishing that was the case, but then he sees another couple ahead holding hands and he can't take it anymore. He stops.

"You _are_ killing me in a way." Ron's frown would scare a lesser man into immediate submission. Not Carwood though, not today. "I just can't - I can't do this. We dragged it out long enough. If you want to break up with me - well, I guess it's not breaking up since we're not dating - but just go through with it now and stop my misery."

The curve of Ron's mouth is pure distress. "What do you mean, 'not dating'?"

Carwood stares at the lively city lights reflected on the water and shrugs. "We aren't. We never go out together."

"I thought you didn't like going out."

He gives Ron a look. The stab wound in his chest seems to freeze over. "Alone."

"Oh." Ron runs a hand through his own hair jerkily. There's something wild in his eyes, like he's scared. "I'm sorry."

Carwood sighs. It's not in his nature to stay angry at someone for long. At this point, he's just tired of holding it together and wants it to stop. "It's all right, Ron. I understand. Let's just go home."

He grabs Ron's hand, ignoring the pain that laces through him when he realizes this is the first time he's done this in public, but when he pulls, Ron doesn't budge. He tugs back.

"Carwood." He says, and his voice sounds high from disbelief. "I don't want to break up with you."

The whirlwind of hurt and the sickening smells all cease at once, and Carwood stops breathing. "You don't?"

"Why would I?" Ron asks back, now looks almost worried that he messed up or that Carwood is going to break into tears. Neither is far from the truth.

Carwood tangles his fingers in the lapels of Ron's coat and searches his face, but there's nothing but sincerity staring back at him. "But you've been so tense all night. In the past few days too."

Ron bites his lip and glances around, then steps closer. He puts his hands on Carwood's white-knuckled grip on his clothes. "I wanted to ask you something."

A boat blows its horn downstream and the wind picks up, making the trees bow together and rustle like gossiping children at school. Carwood blushes and lets Ron's coat go, embarrassed by his outburst. He almost laughs when Ron, still so clumsy about affection, circles his wrists with steady fingers and pushes Carwood's palms together as if he was praying.

"I know it hasn't been that long and I'm aware that I'm a difficult person to be with." He starts. "But I don't want you to live with Toye and Luz. They are immature, and you would always have to look after them. You deserve to be looked after too."

That does make Carwood smile. The warm rush of his relief makes him sweat. "That's sweet of you."

"Let me finish. I want to tell you that..." Ron's speech takes an uncharacteristic stumble, but he composes himself, staring at Carwood's captured wrists as if they held his clues. "From the first time you entered my apartment, I wanted you to move in with me. When I look at you on my couch or in my bed or in the kitchen with your striped socks and soft sweaters, that space feels more like home than it ever did before."

Ron raises his eyes then, utterly serious. His hands are cold on Carwood's skin, and there's nothing soft in his voice, but his tone is earnest, and his features are angel-smooth in the pale light of a streetlamp.

"I love you." He says. A simple fact. "And I want you to live with me. Would you like that?"

Carwood wraps his arms around him and kisses the sweet aftertaste of that confession off his lips until he can't stop laughing and Ron staggers a step back from his weight. "You scared me."

"Sorry."

The white blossom of a tree scatters petals into the night and they sail over the grass and the smooth pebbles lining the edge, into the river. Carwood closes his eyes. "Let me think about it."

Ron hugs him tighter and strokes his back. "As long as you need."

A few minutes after waking up, Ron is calmer than any other time. Today, the morning after their first official date, he's on his stomach, blinking lazily from the nest of his rumpled sheets, and he lets Carwood lean over him and pepper kisses along his shoulder blade and the supple hill of his biceps. He looks happy and open, lit by the sunshine streaming in through the window. They cracked it open when they stirred awake, desperate for a hint of fresh air to cut through the stuffy room, and the scent of pastries from the bakery two floors below drifts inside. Ron's sheer curtains flutter.

The blanket is loose around Ron's waist, leaving his abdomen bare as he turns to his side and basks in Carwood's attention like a wildcat. He's ridiculous when he tries to be playful, and so, so lovely. Carwood takes his hand and pulls it to his chest until he can dip his chin against it and kiss his knuckles. His breath ghosts over Ron's slender fingers. "I've thought about it."

Ron doesn't ask, but he listens carefully, hazel eyes wide, and for the first time, Carwood really dares think this could be it. He kisses the corner of Ron's mouth. "Yes."

In the dazzling morning light, Ron's smile could rival the sun.

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think :)


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